Chapter 4
Vivienne’s mother was Eleanor Cross.
Dead.
At least officially.
Car accident seven years ago.
Closed casket.
Private funeral.
I had attended.
Something about our families apparently enjoyed burying people without enough questions.
“Your mother gave you this?”
Vivienne shook her head.
“She left it.”
“Where?”
“In a safe.”
“When did you open it?”
“Six months ago.”
That was before our engagement.
Interesting.
Inside the safe:
The watch.
Three old photographs.
A sealed letter.
And a key.
Vivienne read the letter.
Then called Gideon.
That was when the plan began.
“What did Eleanor write?”
Vivienne looked at her uncle.
He answered for her.
“Nothing that concerns Celia.”
I stared.
Wrong room for class arrogance.
“Everything concerns Celia now.”
Gideon looked annoyed.
Good.
Vivienne finally spoke.
Her mother claimed Alistair Ashford had not died naturally.
Public story:
Heart attack during a winter dinner.
Private Cross story:
He collapsed after confronting someone inside his own study.
Eleanor had been there.
Not inside.
Nearby.
She saw one person leave.
My uncle Marcus Ashford.
My father’s younger brother.
Current senior adviser.
The man standing ten feet behind me in the ballroom.
I turned.
Marcus did not move.
Too still.
There.
He had not attempted to leave.
Smart.
But his face had changed.
I looked back at Vivienne.
“What does that have to do with the watch?”
Eleanor took it from Alistair’s desk after his death.
Why?
Because she believed it contained something.
Not recording.
A hidden compartment.
Evan Brooks—the watchmaker—had modified it at Alistair’s request.
Celia’s father.
That explained everything.
The Cross family had spent years trying to open it.
Failed.
Then recently Gideon found the compartment.
Empty.
Someone had removed whatever was inside before Eleanor stole the watch.
So why bug it now?
Because Gideon believed Marcus would recognize it.
And if I wore my father’s watch while speaking privately with Marcus, Marcus might reveal what happened twenty years ago.
I stared at Gideon.
“You bugged me to interrogate my own uncle without telling me.”
He smiled faintly.
“Would you have agreed?”
“No.”
May you like
“Exactly.”
That did not help him.
